Deep Crimson
by 00tiva0jisbon00
Summary: All I could hear was her screams, or my brothers saying my name in disgust. It couldn't be my fault. But why didn't I believe that? All I could see was darkness, but even in the darkest of nights there is some light. Maybe Patrick Jane was my light.
1. The Old And The New

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 1: The Old and The New**

TIGER, tiger, burning bright  
In the forests of the night,  
What immortal hand or eye  
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies  
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?  
On what wings dare he aspire?  
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art  
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?  
And when thy heart began to beat,  
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?  
In what furnace was thy brain?  
What the anvil? What dread grasp  
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,  
And water'd heaven with their tears,  
Did He smile His work to see?  
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright  
In the forests of the night,  
What immortal hand or eye  
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

He didn't tell me the truth, I could see it in his eyes. Red John _had _said something else, something that worried even the great Patrick Jane. I didn't understand it, and I don't think he did either. He lied to my face, but then again, when did he ever stop lying? I closed my eyes, trying to lock the hurt down. I was Theresa Lisbon, locking my emotions down was just what I did. And the only person who could possibly see through my charade was wrapped up in himself. Jane, Patrick Jane was the only person who had any chance of seeing through the barriers, and into dangerous waters. But, he wouldn't look, wouldn't see what was right in front of him, and I didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Either way, it wouldn't change anything. When it came to Red John, Patrick Jane forgot about everything, all he cared about was Red John and revenge. He would do anything to catch him, and wouldn't care what it cost him or anyone else. He said he was fine, but because of all that I've been through, I knew he wasn't telling the truth. I knew something that Red John had said effected Jane, in a way nothing could. And I knew why, I knew why he wouldn't say anything. He didn't want anyone else to have a head start, he wanted Red John to himself. I knew what would happen eventually, he would murder Red John and I would be forced to arrest him. He was going to destroy his life, and I don't think he'd ever regret it, not truly.

**A week later.**

"_Where's your mother?" my dad asked me, he was drunk again. It happen so often, it was almost normal behavior, almost expected. I looked at him, this had been going on for years with no change, with no remorse. I couldn't count the number of hospital runs I had been to in the last four and a half years, the number was just too high._

"_Daddy," I replied, worried, he never mentioned mother, never, "She's dead. It has been four and a half years." He looked at me, his gaze murderous. I had just enough time to feel panic rise in my chest before I felt something make contact with my head. I dropped to the ground as a small cry escaped from my lips. I couldn't see, I couldn't move, I was alone. Panic rippled through my thoughts. I was still conscious, but I couldn't do anything, there was just too much pain. All I could see was darkness, the hatred in his eyes._

"_Resa?" I heard the cautious question asked by my sister Gwen. I opened my mouth to reply, to warn her, I had to try. But another blow came, this time to my chest. I could breathe, move, see, as the pain returned. For a split second darkness covered everything, I blacked out. Seconds later I heard a scream come from my sister. My heart lurched within my chest as I forced myself up, everything hurt. Every move I made sent excruciating pain throughout my whole body. But I had to move, I had to get to Gwen, I had to save her. I struggled forward, my eyes glanced around the whole room, looking, searching for her. There. The scream came again, twice, three times. My father stood up, turning away from her, turned towards me._

"_Bitches. That's what you both are. You deserve what you got," he said coldly as he walked away from me and out the door. The door slammed behind him, and then the room was over taken by silence. I ran towards my sister, hoping, praying that I was wrong. But, I could feel the dread in my heart, and I knew she was dead, killed by her own father. I reached her body, pressing my fingers on her pulse point, nothing. She was dead. _

"_G-Gwen? Theresa?" I heard one of my brothers behind me. I turned around fresh tears rolled down my face. Not because of the pain I was in, not because of **what** my father had done, but because, she was gone forever. My little sister. _

"_Tommy...," I whimpered. I could see the acusation in his eyes._

"_It's your fault!" he exploded, "You could have saved her, but you let her die. It's your fault she's gone," he paused and looked at me, "And it's your fault mom's gone too." I felt my heart break into millions of pieces, not even clean in two. _

"_Resa," it was my other two brothers, Damon and Jake, "How..." they trailed off. They didn't even have to say it, I knew what was coming: How could you do that? _

"_No," I cried, "That's not true." But they were already gone. I went back to Gwen's body, brushing the hair out of her face. _

"_They can't be right... Oh Gwen... I'm so sorry. I tried, I really did," I sobbed, wishing that my father had taken my life instead of hers. But it was too late. I stood up, deciding that I'd call the police in the morning, and made my way to my room. As soon as I shut the door I crumpled against it. I wasn't sad, no, I was distraught. I couldn't feel anything, I was completely alone. My own family hated me. I walked over to my dresser, seeing the mirror that he had smashed the last time he was in one of his rages. The glass was still everywhere. I picked up a piece, desperate to feel something, anything, and I did the only thing I could think of. I brought the glass down against my upper thigh and cut. Just a thin, shallow cut across my leg. I writhed in pain and agony, but, I felt everything. I felt alive. For the first time I felt like I was strong enough to make it through. I clamped an old t-shirt on to my leg, which sent more pain through my body. The gray shirt quickly turned scarlet as the blood seeped into it. _

_He wasn't arrested, no, because he was drunk, he apparently wasn't fully responsible for his actions. All he had to do was get help. Like that was going to happen. I knew he wouldn't get help, that this would just keep getting worse, but what could I do? Nothing. I couldn't, my brothers, they had already lost so much, losing anything else... I couldn't do that to them. The worst part, they thought I was responsible. They hated me. _

_Two weeks later, two weeks of me suffering through beatings from my father, two week and I could still feel the glass cut across my skin. I knew cutting was dangerous, and I didn't do it often. Only when I couldn't feel anything. And in those two weeks, I felt, I felt more than I ever had before. I opened the door for my bothers, only to clap my hand over my mouth and drop everything I was carrying. He was dead. My father was dead. Before I had thought that if he died then we might be saved, that I might be relieved. I wasn't, I felt emptiness claw through my stomach. We stood at his body, but none of us were looking at him. My brothers we staring at me, hatred gleamed in their eyes. They still thought my sisters' death was my fault, and I didn't know whether to agree with them or not. They wished I had gone in her place. And so did I._

I stared at the case file in my hand, the memories that the case had brought back were painful. It felt like old wounds had just been ripped open. The case: a man, the father, who was a known alcoholic, had killed all of his kids during an alcohol withdrawal. It wasn't necessarily cold blooded murder, but it was still murder. We solved it quickly, considering the man had confessed three hours into the case.

"So," Rigsby wondered, "Why do you think he confessed?"

"My guess," Van Pelt answered, "Guilt." I rolled my eyes, knowing that wasn't the case.

"No, it wasn't guilt," I snapped, "It was the affects of the alcohol withdrawal. Definitely not guilt." I stood up quickly as memories came flooding back again and walked into my office, closing the door behind me. I breathed deeply, _this shouldn't be affecting you like this, Theresa. Don't let it._ But, it did get to me. All I could hear was my sister's screams right before she died or my brothers saying my name in disgust. My sister. No one, not a single person knew I had, had a sister. Not even Patrick Jane. Not that he would care any way. When all was said and done, I knew that he would choose Red John, that what he kept saying to me meant nothing at all. He would leave me, just like everyone else in my life. And new wounds would lie next to the old, never healing. Patrick Jane was sure to make a few new wounds, and I wasn't sure if I could handle breaking again.

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time can not erase_

**A/N: Hey, I'm not sure what to think about this story, so I would really appreciate some reviews to let me know. Reviews and constructive criticism is always great! And suggestions!**

**~ ~ Rebecca**


	2. Silver Lines

**A/N: Hey, I'd just like to thank Jisbon4ever, Country2776, Famous4it, and Janzan-Swomps for their reviews! This could just be a coincidence(which, as long as we know that when it comes to Red John there are no coincidences, then it's okay), but right after I read them I got an idea, so thanks! Okay here's the second chapter!**

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 2: Silver Lines**

**Patrick Jane's POV**

The poem ran through his head, over and over, yet he couldn't crack it. He shook his head, trying to open his mind to new thoughts, new ideas, because that's what Patrick Jane did. But one thing wouldn't leave his mind, _Roll Tide._ Red John had said roll tide. He couldn't have known, there was no way, unless he had Kristina. Which, because of the interview, was entirely possible, and he had said she was fond of him. The more he thought about it the more it made sense. He heard someone walking around, _Lisbon_, he thought, _but, she isn't leaving, just getting more coffee. _The walking stopped abruptly in front of the bull pen. Jane opened his eyes seeing Lisbon bent over, tying her shoe. Her shirt rode up, revealing her side and part of her back. Jane shook his head and sighed, there was something about that, that bothered him, but just like with the Kristina/ Red John thing, he couldn't put his finger on it.

He closed his eyes, knowing what Lisbon would say. She would say that Kristina knew Red John, that she was working with him. Actually, now that he thought about it, it made sense. She knew that his daughter was asleep when she was murdered, she knew when there was going to be a murder, she knew that I had lied in that god-awful interview, and she didn't think that he would go after her. For once, Lisbon would've had the right idea, when he, Patrick Jane, had the wrong. His thoughts crept back to Lisbon, what was bothering him about seeing her side and back? There was something wrong. Yes, he knew that the whole case had hit her emotionally, but, there was one aspect of it that hit her the hardest. And, the thing was, he had no idea what it was. The man had killed all of his kids, two daughters and three sons, but that couldn't be it...

Then it hit him, her side. There was a thin silver line. An old wound, a scar. One from a shard of glass being pressed against your skin. He knew, he just knew that it was from her pressing to her side. While he didn't know why she had done this, he did know she didn't have many of these marks. And he could tell that the last time she did this was when she was a teenager. Now, this, unlike Kristina Frye, made sense, he thought as the memory flashed back into his mind.

_He had just finished a mind game with Lisbon, guessing the shape that she was thinking of correctly, a triangle inside of a circle.  
_**_"_**_How did you do that?" she asked, genuinely curious.  
"Oh, that's nothing. That's just the calibration key to real mind-reading. Now I have to access all of your innermost thoughts," he said smugly, enjoying the fact that he could convince all of the team of this.  
"Yeah, right," she responded, sarcastically, not believing it for a moment. He looked at her knowing she'd give in eventually. She always did.  
Jane responded, his face neutral, which just added to the effect,"I'm serious."  
"Okay. So what am I thinking right now?" she asked, completely unaware that she had just played into his hand, just like she always did. He could always count on her for that.  
"You're thinking, I'm so glad Jane is joking around and he can't actually read my mind," he answered, certain that it was right on the dot. He was right, as always. It would uncharacteristic for him to be wrong. And that just wouldn't do.  
"No," she defended herself, unsuccessfully, "Well, actually yes, but not for the reason you think."  
"What reason do I think?" he asked innocently, like he had no clue, which at the time he didn't.  
__"Never you mind," she answered quickly.  
"You're blushing," Rigsby stated, smirking, knowing now, that they all had secrets. Secrets that they didn't want anyone to know about, especially not Patrick Jane.  
_**_"_**_You are blushing."_

The flash back ended, leaving him exhausted. Though he knew one of her secrets, he wasn't a fool, and he didn't think it was just plain and simple. He was missing something. He closed his eyes, feeling himself drifting off into a light sleep. But the sight of the silver line on her side wouldn't leave his mind. It, in one way, haunted him, made him wonder what else about Theresa Lisbon he didn't know. About the silver lines.

**Theresa Lisbon's POV**

I felt his gaze on me, on my side. Then it hit me, my shirt had ridden up, he could see the scar. The second, and last, time I had cut myself. Jane knew. He knew, but he didn't come after me when I walked away, he didn't ask if I was okay. He just closed his eyes. Maybe I was right, he could say that he'd always be there for me, that he'd save me, but when could I actually start believing it? It bugged me; I didn't need protection from the type of people we put behind bars, no I'm in the serious crimes unit, I know how deal with them. So who was he going to save me from?

I climbed into my bed, not in the least bit tired, my mind was buzzing with thoughts from the day. He called us friends, he said that I could trust him, but he was withholding vital information from me. Not just as an investigator, but as a friend. I could help him, I had to believe that, but only if he would let me. I couldn't see into his mind, no, I didn't know what he was thinking at all hours of the day. That was his thing, not mine. But, in all honesty, how could I help him, when I couldn't even help myself? My sister, the one thing I managed hiding from everyone, her death, the events that happened after, it all still hurt me. Consumed me. And the case, that could have happened to us at anytime. That could have been my whole family, and it almost was. I felt my body turn cold, like no emotion could pass through it. I knew, from experience, that this feeling wasn't going away, no, it would stay with me until I did something about it. Something.

_His dead body was still fresh in my mind, it just wouldn't leave. It was as if it was still laying in our living room. But, the thing was, it wasn't. I didn't feel hurt when my brothers wouldn't even look at me, I didn't feel offended when people at school asked incredulously where the bruises had come from,_ _and I didn't care. I couldn't, something wouldn't let me. I knew this feeling, it was the same feeling that had come after Gwen's death. It was a year later, and still, that night was vivid in my mind. Like it happened yesterday. _

_The glass was cold in my hand, I could feel the sharp edges. I had to feel, I had to be strong. They may not believe it, but they, my brothers, they needed me. And I, to a certain extent, needed them. They kept me alive, gave me a reason to live. I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming. I brought the glass down against my side, and cut. Slowly, carefully, knowing full well, that if I cut too long, or too deep, the consequences would be too great. Pain spread through my body, as I felt not only the glass piercing my skin, but every emotion I should have been feeling. I had to make it through this, if not for myself, but for my brothers, for my sister. Then, there was a thin line of red replacing my previously bare skin. Soon enough that red line would be just like my one other scar, just a memory, just a silver line. Just looking at the line seemed to help, but sometimes it wasn't enough. Sometimes there was only one thing that I could do. I pressed a towel to my side, watching it turn scarlet. The pressure on my new wound hurt like hell, but I had to stop the bleeding. Every inch I moved sent excruciating pain throughout my body. It consumed me._

I let out a breath that I didn't realize I was holding. My hand found its way to a blade, the only thing I could do. In some alternate world, where Jane had care, had run after me, I might have told him. Asked him to help me, to follow through on his promises, to save me. The blade drew across my side with such precision, one would have thought I had done this more than twice. Agony encased my entire side as the cold metal tumbled to the ground. I fell to the ground, grabbing a towel along the way and pressing it to my side. It wasn't the pain, no, I could deal with pain. It was the weight of all the emotions, everything I would have been feeling. Gradually, I could have handled it, but all at once?

I needed him, Patrick Jane. I couldn't tell him what was going on, no, I needed him to put the pieces together. I needed him to know. He needed to know that the person I needed to be saved from was myself. He had to know what the silver lines meant. Me, I was what I needed to be saved from.

**A/N:**

**Okay, so the scenes where Lisbon hurts herself are difficult to do, considering I have no experience in this department. So, was I doing an okay job? Honesty is great, it helps me become a better writer. Oh and while I'm asking questions, what did you guys think about Jane's flashback, because that was an actual scene. I referred to the episode so I would get the dialogue right, but the rest was improvised. So, how was it? Good, bad, atrocious? I love that word, atrocious, but I never use it... Maybe because it sounds weird. Any way, not the point. Let me know what you thought. **

**Unfortunately, I seemed to have developed at tad bit of writers block, so any ideas and suggestions would be greatly appreciated! Thanks, and reviews are wanted!**

_**~ ~ Rebecca**_


	3. Mirror Image

**Author's Note: **

**Hey, so again I'd just like to thank the people who reviewed chapter two of my story: Janzan-Swomps and Jisbon4ever! Thanks guys! Okay so I realized halfway through writing this chapter that I was spelling Teresa wrong. And I was like 'oh crap' so if you realized this, I apologize. I usually spell it this way(Teresa) so I don't really know why I spelled it the other way... Confused? Me too. Any way here is the third chapter! Please, please, please review! Good, bad, I don't care! I just like reading them! Weird? I don't think so.**

**~ ~ Rebecca**

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 3: Mirror Image**

**Teresa Lisbon's POV**

This was me, yet at the same time, it wasn't. This was a shell of what I used to be, who I used to be. But when the memories come back, when they haunted me, I crumbled. They consumed me, the darkness and emptiness would take over, and I would let it, knowing that no one knew what I was going through or cared enough to find out. This was not the Teresa Lisbon that everyone saw, no, this was what I kept hidden from everyone. I had to. Even my eyes, which used to be a brilliant green, now, they were a dull lifeless green-gray. I was mirror image of what I used to be. Just an image, not reality. I bent down, pain shot through my side reminding me of what I had done. I grimaced in pain, the blinding pain. I couldn't move, every time I tried the pain paralyzed me. I was frozen in fear, in agony, in darkness. I managed to sink to the ground, my breathing quickened, my heart pounding in my chest. With my back against the wall, I buried my head in my hands, breathing. Just breathing.

Concentrating on anything except the pain. I struggled upward, fighting the urge to just collapse, right then and there. With every move, the pain grew, but I kept moving, I had to. I sat in the driver's seat of my car for what seemed like hours, not wanting to go in, not enjoying the prospect of facing my team and lying to them. And uncertain of what I wanted Patrick Jane to do. Which Teresa Lisbon did he see? The real one, the empty shell, the mirror image, or the fake one, the one that I used to be, the one that part of me craved to be, but just couldn't be. Not since my sister's death.

_A week. A week since her death, a week and father hadn't even noticed, and he was bound to soon. I closed my eyes, not sure of how I was going to answer the questions he was sure to ask eventually. He didn't remember that night at all, and I, I remembered it clear enough for the both of us. For all of us. But they didn't care, my brothers blamed me. They had to blame someone, I understood that, but why me? I tried to save her, I really had, so why, when I was also a victim, was I blamed for her death? And I had to prepare myself to tell the tale to my soon-to-be-drunk father, to tell him what he had done to our family. If you could even call us that. Maybe when mother was alive, but now... Now I was just trying to get my brothers out of here alive. Her funeral in two days time, lay just ahead, so, my father, he would have to face the truth soon, there was no evading it._

_He stumbled in the room, a beer bottle hanging loosely in his grasp. Empty. _

"_Teresa. Where is your sister?" he asked, his words slurred together. Drunk. And there was the question, and I had no idea how to answer the question, how to break it to him._

"_You were drunk and you...," my voice faltered as tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill down on my face. No, I had to stay strong, not for me, for my brothers, for my sister. I didn't have to continue, he knew what I was going to say. And I knew it. I felt the same panic rise in my chest that had risen before her death, I was terrified, not of dying, no, of leaving. Of leaving my brothers in this place; I couldn't even call it home anymore. He stood, swaying slightly as the alcohol coursed through his veins. _

"_Bitch," he hissed, raising his hand. I knew what was coming, it was to be expected. His hand connected with my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. I gasped for air, fighting the pain that grew with each breath. There was a crash, he had dropped the bottle. I struggled upward, attempting to get out of the room, to get away from him. I felt his hand hit my chest, sending me back, sprawling on the ground. His hand came down again, but this time it didn't hit me, it slashed. I felt the glass cut my arm, sending the searing pain where ever the glass cut. I screamed in pain, hoping the neighbors, someone would hear me. Would save them, my brothers. I couldn't let them go through this. He clamped his hand down on my mouth, stopping my scream. I struggled underneath him, trying to get away._

"_Bitch," he growled again as he let me go. I ran to my room, slamming the door behind me as I sank to the ground, tears rolling down my cheeks. The weight of my sisters death pinned me down, he didn't believe what he had done. It was all on me again, yet another person blamed me. The sickening red glint of the blood spilling down my arm burned it's way into my vision. I stood up, wobbling slightly at the loss of blood, and grabbed a fresh towel, tying it securely around my arm. The pressure of having the towel on my arm sent sparks of pain throughout my body. The pain grew worse, the room spinning in response. I stumbled forward before falling to the ground. I heard him, my father at the door, laughing as I fell unconscious. As the black surrounded me._

I breathed, in and out, in and out, trying to calm my nerves. I might be able to fool most of my team, but Jane, I wasn't so sure about. But, he had been so wrapped in himself lately, maybe it was possible. And even if I could fool him, is that what I really wanted, what I needed? I climbed out of the car, closing the door behind me and walking inside, clenching my teeth at the shooting pain. No sooner had I walked in when my phone began buzzing in my pocket. I stopped in front of the bull pen, trying to dig my phone from the depths of my backpack.

"Lisbon," I answered confidently.

"Ah, Agent Lisbon, sorry to wake you but, we've got a case," Madeline Hightower spoke at the other end of the phone, "It's Red John. Gather your team here then head out. Unfortunately we know the victim." she hung up, without giving me anymore information, without telling me who had been murdered. I looked at Patrick Jane, who looked like he was actually sleeping for once, without the nightmares I knew he had plaguing him. I knew, in the same way he knew it happened to me sometimes. When times grew harder they would come, like now. I dialed the number, putting the phone up to my ear, "Van Pelt," came the answer.

"We've got a case. It's urgent, be at the CBI building as soon as possible. Call Rigsby and Cho, I'll get everything else ready. We'll leave as soon as all of you are here." I hung up the phone after giving my orders. Red John. This was bad. Jane was just barely getting back to normal, and now it was just going to go spiraling out of control again. Things were bad enough already, the last thing I needed was Red John to complicate things. Yes, he always did choose the most inconvenient of times to strike. The bastard was too smart for his own good.

"It's Red John, isn't it?" Jane's voice rang out, stopping my train of thought right in it's tracks. I nodded, not sure if my voice would work. I turned around, wincing. Too fast. Jane looked at me, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Lisbon? Why are you wincing?" he asked, seemingly curious. He knew, though. He saw the scar, unless he hadn't put all the pieces together.

"It's nothing," I lied. Yes, in a way I wanted him to know, but I was afraid. Afraid that since there was Red John in the picture, that he would just blow me off. That he would leave me. Just like everyone else. And just then the rest of my team walked in, still looking half asleep. I motioned for them to follow. We split in two, Patrick and I in one car, the rest in the other.

We drove to the crime scene in silence,none of our usual harmless bickering or Jane's pointless mind games, the Red John chaos was beginning. First silence, then even more reckless behavior. More reckless than usual, that is. I parked the car outside the house, nothing out of the ordinary yet. But, of course that's how it would be, it's Red John, mistakes were very unusual. And when they happened, you had no idea what they were until it was too late. At least, in our experience that was how it worked. One would hope we'd have better luck this time. Patrick and I walked from room to room, searching for the crime scene. The last room, the bed room. We walked in, the bloody smiley face on the wall, looking down at us. Then the body, bodies. Two bodies, one male one female, husband and wife, I guessed. The woman was in the bed, she was the first victim, the male was on the floor, the second, who had appeared to have put up a fight. Wait, I recognized them, yes, they were familiar. Virgil Minnelli. He was here, dead.

"Jane," I whispered, "Minnelli." He looked at he body for the first time, inhaling slightly at the sight of our former boss. I turned to leave the room, pausing slightly when I saw a scarf. Normally I would have said it was the murder victims', but Minnelli's wife, Angela, didn't wear scarves. And it wouldn't be on the floor, no, that woman had major OCD. But, more importantly, I _had _seen the scarf before. Recently, in fact.

Kristina Frye. She had been there, at our crime scene.

"Jane, this is Kristina's scarf, she was wearing the last time we saw her. She was here," I explained carefully, not sure how he was going to take it.

"Yes," he replied stubbornly, "It means Red John has her." He wouldn't believe that she was involved with him. He was supposed to be the mentalist, so why couldn't he see it? Maybe because he didn't want to, he had liked her and he couldn't imagine someone fooling him. Especially not about Red John. I opened my mouth to respond, but his phone rang, right on cue, right when I was going to tell him that he was wrong. He turned around, trying to find a more private place to talk. I went back to work, keeping an ear out, trying to hear who was calling him, trying to ignore the burning pain in my side. Not succeeding.

Five minutes later I felt something tug at my arm, pulling me out of the room. I struggled momentarily, remembering the way my father would drag me out of my room at times, then relaxed when I realized it was Jane. He dragged me outside, pausing only to see where I put the keys.

"Jane, what the hell is going on?" I asked, startled by him putting his hand in my front pocket, and grabbing the keys from it. I snatched them out of his hand, signaling that we weren't going anywhere until I got an explanation.

"That was Kristina on the phone," he gave in reluctantly, "She sounded out of breath, and worried. I think she's in trouble, so we," he said motion to him and I, "are going to get her." I looked at him incredulously, "Jane, there are many reasons why she could be out of breath or worried. And, yeah, she's in trouble. With us, for being at our crime scene. Don't you think it's even remotely possible that she knows more about Red John than she is telling?"

"Lisbon," he said, his tone dead serious, "Don't be worried, I'll be able to interrogate her and if she's guilty I can deal with that. You know I will do anything to catch Red John."

"That, Jane, that is what I'm worried about."

"Lisbon, let me make this clear, when I catch him, not if, I will cut him open and watch him bleed. Just like he did with my wife and child." I stared at him, my gaze cold. Why couldn't he understand how much he was hurting the people around him? It was amazing how much he could see, yet, at the same time, he was so blind. Blind to others' pain, to my pain.

"Then let me make this clear," I said, "If you do that, then I will either have to shoot you to try to stop you, or arrest you for murder. That's life in jail. Do you really want that? Would your wife and daughter want that?" I asked him, knowing that he'd be furious at me for saying it, but it had to be done.

He stared at me, hatred burned in his gaze, "You wanna go there? Fine. Would your family like to know that as a teenager you cut yourself a few times and you did it again last night?" I flinched at the coldness of his words. He knew, and yet he didn't care, not a single bit.

"You don't know anything about that, Jane. And, yes, in answer to your question. Most of them would. Now are we going to get going, we have a suspect to catch." I walked away and hopped in the car, slamming the door behind me. I knew he didn't really mean it, it was the Red John case, and I knew it. But I couldn't shake the effect of what he said, it just wouldn't leave my mind. He didn't know how much saying that affected me.

Three weeks. Three weeks earlier, my whole life was in my control. My emotions, carefully guarded, then the Red John case came, and everything fell apart. The father killed his children, bringing back memories from my past, memories that I barely lived through the first time, so living through them a second time, near impossible. And now, this case. I lied to him, and to my team, and he saw through it. He knew even before the Red John case came up, and he didn't say anything. I guess he wasn't going to save me. Not from what truly mattered.

I parked the car at the destination that Kristina Frye had given us.

"Jane, please," I tried to reason with him, "I don't trust her, don't go." He looked at me, was that concern in his gaze?

"You don't have to trust her. I do." I guess not.

"You're not going. That is an order," I responded, guessing he would just disobey the order, but it was worth a shot.

"Well, Lisbon, it's an order I can not follow," he said simply. I sighed, knowing I wasn't going to get through to him this time, or probably anytime.

I saw her at the end of an alley, she wasn't facing us, but I had no doubt that she knew we were there. We stepped out of the car, Jane was nearly running over to her. I caught a silver glint out of the corner of my eye as she began to turn. A knife, she had a knife. Shit, I was right.

"Jane," I shrieked, but as expected I got no response, "She has a knife." I ran forward, clenching my teeth at the pain that wracked my side. She saw me coming and sprang forward. I reached Jane first, pushing him out of the way as she barreled into me. I felt my head connect with the hard concrete, pain exploded in my skull. My hands fumbled with my gun, trying to get it out.

"Don't shoot her," I heard Jane's cry. I flinched, hearing the unsaid meaning. The meaning that he may or may not have meant to say. Her knife came down on my shoulder, then my calf leaving me in a bloody mess. She knelt down next to me, her breath hot on my face, "You think you can trust him?" I could hear the smile in her words. She paused, letting me contemplate what she said.

"In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?" she paused again, seeing my eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Roll tide." And she was gone.

**A/N: So... reviews? Like I said above, I love reading them, good or bad, so please review! Oh and for Janzan-Swomps and Jisbon4ever, both of you have reviewed for all of this story(even though it was just the first two chapters, still) and Jisbon4ever my other stories, you guys asked for Kristina to be in league with Red John(which I totally agree with! I can't stand her!), there you go! **

**Thanks to all of you guys for reading my story, and tell me if you want something to happen, and it just might! **

**~ ~ _Rebecca_**


	4. Consumed

**A/N: Okay, first of all I would like to thank JisbonTiva, Jisbon4ever, Janzan-Swomps, and Dani-9900 for reviewing! Thanks you guys! Also, I would like to thank Libby Cat, because she PMed me with a review! Thanks! The next chapter will be much more interesting, I promise. Okay, so here is my goal, I really want to get over five reviews for this chapter! Please help! For every other chapter I have gotten four reviews or less, so pleasepleaseplease help! **

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 4: Consumed**

**Teresa Lisbon's POV**

My whole body shrieked, burned in agony. I squirmed, trying to get away, but it was relentless. Even the slightest of motions left me exhausted, helpless. My eyelids grew heavy, closing, then re-opening, just to close again. I could feel the black closing in, coming closer, second by second. Breath by breath. Someone shook me, keeping me awake, keeping me with them, keeping the darkness at bay. It kept coming, pursuing me, never letting me go, never letting me rest. But, I couldn't stay, I didn't have the will power. I couldn't find something to fight for. Not this time.

"_Mom, he's drunk again, though," I explained. Home alone watching my brothers was hard enough, but adding on a drunk father, made it virtually impossible. He didn't get drunk often, but when he did, the only one who could calm him down, the only person he seemed to care about, was mother._

"_Don't worry, honey, I'll be home in just-" I heard her scream before a loud crash cut off her words._

"_Mom?" I yelled into the phone, knowing, just knowing that she wouldn't answer me. Never again._

I opened my eyes, ending the flashback, waking me up. I sucked in a breath as the pain of reality hit me. Emotional and Physical. My eyes widened in shock, I hadn't expected any of this to happen. Yet, like usual, it did. I never could seem to control what happened in my life. It was like a never ending horror movie. Pain shot through my arm, leaving me gasping for breath. Leaving me fighting for consciousness. Then, as soon as it was there, it was gone, vanished. I felt pressure on the wound, but not like before. I glanced over, seeing that it was wrapped expertly; Jane. Jane was here. I closed my eyes remembering what had happened, remembering why I was laying on the ground breathless. Remembering what he had said.

_He stared at me, hatred burned in his gaze, "You wanna go there? Fine. Would you family like to know that as a teenager you cut yourself a few times and you did it again last night?" I flinched at the coldness of his words. He knew, and yet he didn't care, not a single bit._

"_You don't know anything about that, Jane. And, yes, in answer to your question. Most of them would."_

I flinched, not out of physical pain, but out of emotional pain as the words sank in. The unspoken meaning of his words still fresh in my mind. Replaying over and over, like a broken record.

_I felt my head connect with the hard concrete, pain exploded in my skull. My hands fumbled with my gun, trying to get it out._

"_Don't shoot her," I heard Jane's cry. I flinched hearing the unsaid meaning. The meaning that he may or may not have meant to say._

I felt the sharp pain again, this time in my leg. The the reassuring numb pressure. He brushed his hands together, signaling that he had done all that he could do. Jane stood up, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes betrayed his worry. I tried to stand, my muscles shrieked in protest. I crumpled to the ground. As I fell my arm shot out to catch me. It did, sending the shooting pain back up my arm. I bit back a scream, I couldn't do this. I couldn't escape. I closed my eyes, trying to get rid of the agony that I was left to face alone. I felt his hands, one at my back, the other at my legs. My body rose upward, unexplainable panic ensued. I struggled momentarily before realizing what was going on, who was carrying me. It was Jane. I felt the cool leather of the CBI van's seats underneath me. I was in the van, the backs seat. I knew where we were going, the hospital.

He glanced down the street, looking for her. I felt the hurt grow in my chest, of course she was his top priority. She knew Red John, she was working with him. I half expected him to go running down the street searching for her, but he silently climbed into the car.

"_Don't shoot her."_ His voice echoed in my subconsciousness. My eyes fluttered closed, I could feel the oncoming darkness as the car jostled me around in the back seat. Open, closed, open and closed.

"Lisbon, you need to stay awake," his voice penetrated the black, only to be over thrown, drowned out. The darkness came closer, I could feel it's pull. It filled me, I couldn't move, I couldn't fight it. I was utterly and completely helpless. Open, closed. Closer and closer, it filled my senses. I knew Jane was talking to me, but I was too far away, I couldn't make out the words. Closed. It closed in leaving me in complete black. There was nothing. Nothing I could do, nothing I could say, nothing I could feel. I was alone, alone in the darkness. Part of me was scared, hopelessly scared. But, the other part knew. This was recognizable. Familiar.

Surrounded by darkness, I couldn't use my senses, but I knew. I knew I had to wake up, I had to fight. I couldn't let the black consume me. Not this time. But, it was. Slowly.

**Patrick Jane's POV**

He saw the hurt in her gaze as he looked for Kristina, and he saw give up right before his eyes, he saw her go limp. She wasn't dead, no, but for once he couldn't be sure. He didn't know, yet, she wasn't dead, she couldn't be. He would have caused it. Sure Kristina had pulled out he knife, but he... He had done so much more. He virtually saw her heart break before his very eyes. What he had said, what he did, it had hurt her, and he knew it. And he couldn't take it back. Wouldn't.

He pressed down on the gas, feeling the car lurch forward. It sped down the street, right, left, right, straight, park. He jumped out of his seat, slamming the door behind him. He picked up her fragile body, carrying it into the hospital. He felt her stir in his arm, a good sign. She was conscious, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

One minute he was holding her in his arms, yelling at a receptionist to hurry up and get a doctor, then next he was sitting in a waiting room, feeling helpless. He glanced up at the clock, damn, only two minutes later than when he last looked.

"Sir, we'd just like to in form you that the woman you brought in is fine. She just needed some stitches and she may leave now, but no excitement," the doctor reported calmly. Jane stood up, walking towards the room where she was signing papers. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze, her look immediately hardened into a glare. Maybe this time he had gone a little too far.

**A/N: Writer's block over! Can I get a whoop whoop? Yes, I should be updating very soon because I know exactly what's going to happen next! Thanks, to all the people that are reviewing my story, it is greatly appreciated! And please review! Make my goal come true!**

**-Rebecca**


	5. Slipping

**A/N: Okay, like usual, I would like to thank Country2776, Libby Cat, JisbonTiva(who, congrats, just put up her first fan fiction called Wake Up, way to go Kimberly(Yeah I know her in real life)), Dani-9900, and Janzan-Swomps; you guys rock! Also, thank you to everyone who read, and double to those who reviewed at all during the story! Any way, here is the next chapter, I've had it planned for what seems like forever! Kind of sad in my opinion, but here it is.**

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 5: Slipping**

**Theresa Lisbon's POV**

I walked back into the CBI building, Patrick trailing somewhere behind me. Normally I would double back just to make sure that he wasn't getting into any trouble, but right now I didn't really care. We had no leads on the Red John case or on that bitch Kristina Frye. The bitch who stabbed me, the bitch who Jane hadn't given up yet. He kept saying that the only reason she did that was because he was supposed to come alone. For someone who saw so much, he really was blind. As a bat. I walked closer to the bull pen, slowly coming into view. I saw my team's heads snap up at the sound of me approaching. Jane had so kindly updated them, not leaving out a single detail, aside from our conversation. Van Pelt opened her mouth, no doubt as ask if I was okay.

"I'm fine," I said reading her mind, "Van Pelt, background checks," the Red John case, with no leads we could act upon, had gone cold... again, "Rigsby, interviews. And Cho, give Jane and I -" my phone interrupted my order, and more importantly, my case, "Excuse me." I walked to one of the windows, more privacy.

"This is Lisbon," I answered the phone, trying to sound casual, trying not to sound like brick by brick my world was coming down.

"Hi, Teresa, this is Chelsea, Damon's wife. You called last week, asking for one of us to get back to you," her voice was sad, breaking every now and then. She sounded just as distraught as I felt, which I wasn't sure was entirely possible. Apparently it was.

"Yes, is my brother there?" I asked, as if it was the most normal question in the world. Not for us it wasn't. My brothers, they were reasonably close, but they all still hated me, blamed me. It was normal for them, they grew up hating me, blaming me, it was natural.

"Uh, n-no. He, oh I don't know how to tell you this...," her voice trailed off momentarily and I felt dread rise in my stomach, "He, uh, died..." I gasped, nearly dropping the phone.

"What?" I asked incredulously, "When?" They may have hated me, but, I loved them, never stopped.

"Uh, well," she sounded nervous, which made me feel even worse, "More than a month ago." I felt as if my heart had stopped dead, _a month? He had been dead for more than a month, and no one told me?_

"Why didn't anyone tell me? When is the funeral?" I asked, my voice threatened to break.

"The funeral was two weeks ago," her voice was hard, like she had inherited my brothers' hate for me.

"T-t-two weeks ago?" I stammered, barely able to get the words out. I felt my heart break... again.

"Yes, and no one told you because we figured you wouldn't care," a male voice said coldly. Tommy. Tommy was on the phone.

"Tommy, of course I would care," I felt rage boil over, "How dare you say I wouldn't. I always cared, I, unlike you all, never stopped." The line went dead, he hung up. I turned around, realizing that my whole team had just heard that conversation. _Shit. _I held out my hand, waiting for the case file and stalked out once I had it in my possession before anyone could say anything.

My door closed behind me as I collapsed into my chair. The tears I had been holding back for so many years spilled down my cheeks. They didn't think I would care, after all I had done for them. I couldn't believe it, yet, I knew it was true.

I could feel it, the pull. The same emotionless pull that I had felt only three times in my whole life. Three times, three silver lines to prove it. I was on the border, the edge. And I was losing my balance. I was slipping.

**A/N: There! Whoop, whoop, I'm so glad I finally got that chapter down on paper, I had this chapter planned since the beginning! What do you think? What do you all want to happen next? Pleasepleasepleaseplease review! I know, I sound desperate, but that's because I am! Hopelessly desperate!**

**-Rebecca :-)**


	6. Ghost

**A/N: Like usual, I want to thank everyone who reviewed! We have the usual: Country2776, JisbonTiva, Dani-9900, Janzan-Swomps, and Jisbon4ever; and then we have a first time reviewer of my story: Heartwing! Also they are new to fan fiction(I saw the profile page), so welcome! Okay, here is the next chapter, hope you all like it, and please review!**

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 6: Ghost**

**Teresa Lisbon's POV**

I was there. At his grave, two hours away from where I was supposed to be, but I had to be here. After all he was my brother, the youngest of us all, except Gwen. I placed the flowers at his grave, tears free falling down my face, faster and faster with no intention of stopping. I fell to the ground, unable to keep up the act anymore, all the walls I had built up over the years were crumbling in just days. Days and I was back to the shell of who I used to be, a ghost. I was becoming as transparent as Jane always had said I was. I cried at his grave, the empty feeling grew stronger with every tear, with every thought, with every beat of my heart. I felt the pull stronger than ever, and I couldn't fight it. Every ounce of strength I had was gone, disappeared. I closed my eyes, losing myself in the darkness that surrounded me. The emptiness that was always there, lingering around the corner, waiting, just waiting for a chance to barge in. A chance to take over. A chance like now.

"I can't believe it," I whispered at the grave stone, my voice heavy, defeated, "you're really dead. You really left this world hating me. Hating me for things that weren't my fault, they _can't _have been. I couldn't do anything, really, I tried. Please," I begged, knowing that he'd never answer me, he'd never hear me.

I couldn't take it, anymore heart break, it was tearing me apart one piece at a time. But I couldn't do anything, I couldn't leave. I had to face it, there was no alternative. But sometimes, sometimes I wished it would completely consume me, then it would be done. Over. Then other times, I wished I could tell someone, but the only person I had even considered telling told me to my face that he knew that he didn't care. That couldn't be true though, and part of me knew it. But, at this point, I was well past thinking rationally. It was like a foreign concept, not something I could quite grasp. Yet, I could let go completely, either. I was frozen. I wasn't moving forward, but I couldn't move backwards, either. I couldn't gain control, but I couldn't lose it. Not yet.

I stood up, hardly even feeling the movement. Twigs snapped behind me and I whirled around, shocked. My eyes widened as I saw who was there, who had been watching me just sit there, staring off into space. Dread filled my senses as I realized what else they would have seen, me, talking to the grave stone.

"Teresa, what are you doing here?" Jake asked me, his tone nuetral, like he hadn't decided what to think. I felt more tears spill down my face at the sight of my brothers, and I was powerless to stop it.

"I-I don't know. I'm sorry," I stammered, nearly sobbing. Before either of them could respond I turned and ran. I didn't know what they were going to say, but if they were going tell me what I had been hearing for years, then I would break completely. I would fall and never get back up. At least this way I still had a tiny shred of hope. Something I could cling to, something that might be a small light in the dark. Hearing what they had told me for years would kill me, literally. I would have been that shell, that ghost. Not completely alive, but not able to move on. To die.

**Tommy Lisbon's POV**

Tears streaming down her face, she ran. She ran away. She had never run away from anything, let alone anyone in her whole life. He looked down guiltily, she was sincere, and he knew it. He had known, in the back of his mind all a long. He closed his eyes, hoping that they could repair the damage that they had caused. Praying that she'd be okay because he knew, he knew there was something else going on entirely. Something that he didn't know if she had the fight to handle. He could see it, the same thing he had seen years ago. The same haunted expression on her face, she was beginning to be like a ghost, just floating. Not being there entirely, yet never quite leaving. Never letting go completely. And he could see it, plain as day, he could see her broken heart.

**Patrick Jane's POV**

She had looked better, truly better as soon as the Red John case had been pronounced cold, yet again. But that phone call, from who ever it was had destroyed everything. She had looked haunted, devastated. And he had caused part of it. Jane sat at his couch, wondering were she went, where she could have gone. He wanted to repair the damage he had caused, wanted to get her to stop. It would kill her. Slowly, but surely. And he couldn't watch that. Not with anyone, but especially not her. Never her. She was supposed to be strong, to be able to fight through anything, but something had caused that to crumble.

He felt a tear run down his cheek as he thought of the expression she had worn when told her he knew. He mentally kicked himself, what ever had hurt her in the first place he was helping it. _Dammit. _He had to fix it. He had to help her. She needed someone, anyone. And he would be that someone. He had to be, not for him. But for her. Always her.

**A/N: So, there it is, a small revelation! Review, please! I live for feedback! So, please!**

**-Rebecca**


	7. Foresight

**A/N: This chapter would have been up yesterday, but as of like eight(when I was going to post) the internet began being... funky. It would work one second, but not work the next, so I apologize. The reviewers, Country2776(who, insipired this idea, though, I've added a little twist to it. Thanks much!), Dani-9900, Janzan-Swomps, supernena25, and Jisbon4ever, thanks yet again for your reviews!**

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 7: Foresight**

**Patrick Jane's POV**

He didn't know what had happened, his once strong Teresa Lisbon was now just a shell, a ghost. He was going to make it up to her, but there was something else, the phone call had proved that. He closed his eyes, remembering the ashen look on her face after hearing what the caller had said. Jane could practically hear her heart breaking. She had looked almost dead, not completely alive, but not dead. It was like she could let go, her grip was just too strong. He knew it, she had gone to a graveyard, she had had the same look on her face that he did when he went to his wife and daughter's graves. He could dis earn that look anywhere. And he had almost followed, but he could feel it, the magnitude of her heartbreak, and it scared him. He had caused some fraction of that, he. But, now, as the dread filled his stomach, he wished he had followed. It was like he could see the silver glint of the knife she would have with her. She always had a knife with her, always. Patrick Jane pulled out his cell phone, something telling him that his timing was going to be impeccable. That it just might make all the difference in the world. And he hoped it would be for the better, not for worst. Sometimes it was good to have an idea of what was going to happen, not like be a psychic, since they didn't exist. But, just being observant. It was an upper hand. A foresight.

**Teresa Lisbon's POV**

I sat in the car, tears glistening on my face in the darkness.

_Everyday I sit here waiting  
Everyday just seems so long  
And now I've had enough of all the hating  
Do we even care, it's so unfair  
Any day it'll all be over  
Everyday there's nothing new  
And now I just try to find some hope  
To try and hold onto  
But it starts again  
It'll never end_

My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. My breathing came in short gasps, as I tried to calm myself down. I needed to get back in control, to find a way through the darkness. But I felt the numbness claw it's way back in, returning again.

_I'm heavily broken  
And I don't know what to do  
Can't you see that I'm choking  
And I can't even move  
When there's nothing left to say  
What can you do  
I'm heavily broken  
__And there's nothing I can do_

My hand left the steering wheel, finding it's way to my bag. It felt it's way around, like it had a mind of it's own. Slowly it closed around a cool silver blade. It glittered in the darkness, the sight forever imprinted in my mind.

_Almost giving up on trying  
Almost heading for a fall  
And now my mind is screaming out  
I've gotta keep on fighting  
But then again  
It doesn't end _

An obnoxious ringing interrupted my thoughts, registering somewhere in my mind as my cell phone. Using my other hand, I grabbed it and held it up to my ear.

"Put down the knife, Teresa," the voice was soft, concerned. It was Patrick Jane. I opened my mouth to respond, but someone beat me to it.

"Yes, Teresa," it drawled, "You might want to put down the knife." I froze, my blood turning to ice.

_I'm heavily broken  
And I don't know what to do  
Can't you see that I'm choking  
And I can't even move  
When there's nothing left to say  
What can you do?  
I'm heavily broken  
And there's nothing I can do  
And there's nothing I can do_

Feels like I'm drowning  
I'm screaming for air  
(Screaming for air)  
Louder I'm crying  
And you don't even care

I'm heavily broken  
And I don't know what to do  
Can't you see that I'm choking  
And I can't even move  
(What can I do)  
When there's nothing left to say  
What can you do  
I'm heavily broken

I'm heavily broken  
And I don't know what to do  
Can't you see that I'm choking  
And I can't even move  
When there's nothing left to say  
What can you do  
I'm heavily broken [x3]

**A/N: Okay, so this was kind of short, I know. What do you all think about the next chapter being in the perspectives of Red John(since that's who it was) and Kristina? Review to tell me. It might inspire me!**

**Country2776- So this wasn't exactly your idea, but at the same time it was. Honestly your idea sparked this sudden turn of event, so I have you to thank. Thank you! Your help was greatly appreciated. Truly it was.**

**0o0rebecca0o0**


	8. Guardian Angel

**A/N: Sorry it took me a few days. All the people who reviewed, Jisbon4ever, Heartwing, supernena25, Dani-9900, Janzan-Swomps, you all have my greatest thanks! Please tell me what you think.**

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 8: Guardian Angel**

**Teresa Lisbon's POV**

He was there. Right there, in my back seat. I was frozen with fear, Red John, he was here. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath quickened, I couldn't even answer Jane. But I needed him to be here. To help me. To be my guardian angel. My mind screamed for me to move, to do something other than just sit there, but my body wouldn't listen. If I had been thinking rationally then I'd have moved, run, done something, but, in my current state, rational was a concept my mind couldn't grasp. Or wouldn't, I wasn't sure. Terror gripped my chest, I feel his eyes, his smile underneath the mask. I shuddered as I thought about what was sure to come, what I knew was going to happen to me. What _he _was going to try to do to me, but I couldn't let him. Wouldn't let him. I wouldn't be another victim. Time seemed to stand still, as if slow motion had taken over. My mind worked at full speed, while everything else seemed frozen in the spot. My body included. I couldn't stay here, frozen like this, I had to break out. To get away.

My whole body snapped into action, grabbing my cell phone and the knife. Then, a split second later, my hand lashed out, striking him in the temple. My hands fumbled with the car door, trying to open it. I heard his laughter, he was out of the car. He pulled my door open, shoving me out on to the ground. I saw him raise his hand over my head, getting ready to strike.

"Lisbon," I heard Jane's panicked call before Red John brought his hand down, silencing me. Cutting me off from everything else. Leaving me completely isolated, alone.

**Red John's POV**

His hand came down on her, cutting off the reply that was sure to come. A cruel laugh crept to his lips, sounding like gunshots in the silence. He stepped on her phone, ending the call for good. He dragged Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon over to his car, putting her in the back seat. For most people, the trunk would be easier to keep the victim there, but he was Red John. He had his own way of doing things, a way only he could do, and do right. Accuracy, it was all about accuracy. And show, but that was a given. Even Patrick Jane could figure that out, yet he could catch him. Red John smiled as he climbed into the car, all the pieces were falling into place. He would be one step ahead of Patrick Jane the whole way, leaving little clues so he would get there just to see her breathe her last breath. That is if everything went as to plan. It usually did, but he was human, and as one of the other cases proved, he did, in fact make mistakes. Rarely, but, yes, he did.

A sharp pain in his shoulder made him take his eyes off the road, placing them on his captive. His victim. Hot liquid seeped into his shirt, _damn, she stabbed me, _he thought, _Should have taken the knife. Too late now._ He smiled despite just being stabbed, knowing if anything he had to make her afraid. It made everything easier, fear. Fear could defeat even the toughest opponent.

Her eyes shot up to the road, then to the door. Unlocked. He smiled again, _yes, _he thought, _go for the door. _She rested her hand on the door, a satisfied smirk on her face. He glanced back to the road just in time to see the car before it hit his. Before his plans erupted in his face. He would live, yes, he knew that. She would live, and she knew it. But there was something about him being the one with blood on him...

**Patrick Jane's POV**

Though a name was never said, he knew. He knew who was in the car. Red John. Her panicked breathing confirmed that. He heard the back door close, but she didn't move, it was like she was frozen. Then her door opened and she was thrown to the ground.

"Lisbon," he cried, desperate to hear her do something, say something. Just to let him know she was still alive, still able to fight. No answer, then the call was over. He had done it, Red John had stepped on the phone.

Patrick Jane looked around, somehow he had gotten to her office, to her desk. His body leaped into action, not wasting even the slightest second. He ran into the bull pen, startling all three of the agents.

"What the hell, Jane?" Rigsby asked, irritated that he had caused him to drop his sandwich on the ground. Jane shushed them, "Okay, we got a problem," he said, for once at a loss for words, "Lisbon, she's-"

Van Pelt interrupted him, "Yeah, where is she? Two hours late," she commented, as if she had just realized that she was gone. Not with them. Maybe even farther than they thought.

"That's the thing, I don't know," he explained hurriedly.

"Chill. It's Lisbon, she'll be fine," Rigsby reassured him, but to no prevail.

"No," Jane practically shouted, "She won't. Why? Because Red John has her." All three agents eyes widened in shock and horror as the words sunk in. Red John. Had. Lisbon.

"I'll track her cell phone."

"Nope," Jane discouraged, "You can't, Red John stepped on it. Actually, we can't really do anything, seeing as no one knows where she went."

"Except you," Van Pelt answered, reminding him that he did, in fact know where she went. His eyes widened in shock and relief as he flashed her a bright smile before running out the door.

And for the first time he saw the situation as a chance to save Lisbon, not to take down Red John's life. He would save her. Be her guardian angel. 

**A/N: Please review. Please, this is me begging. :')**


	9. Left For The Dead

**A/N: Wow, this is me in an incredibly good mood! I just read a book cover to cover, have new hundred dollars burning a whole in my pocket, just waiting to be spent, there is a thunderstorm coming(I love storms), and to top it off, Rizzoli & Isles is on tonight. So for anyone who has never heard of this show, it is amazing. I for one, at first, thought it was a cooking show, because, to me, in my own strange way, thought that Rizzoli sounded like pasta. Nope, not pasta, it's a crime show. Very funny, on it's second episode ever! Tonight at ten, on TNT!**

**Thanks to: Dani-9900, JisbonTiva, supernena25, Heartwing, and Jisbon4ever for reviewing like usual!**

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 9: Left For The Dead**

**Teresa Lisbon's POV**

The car was seconds away from colliding with us, my grip tightened on the car door. His eyes brightened as he saw my plan. I pushed the door open the second before the cars closed in on each other, and jumped. My body connected with the ground, only to bounce up again. Then rolling. I was rolling down the hill... Something in my gut told me I had to stop, stop rolling, stop giving in, stop moving. I inched closer the bottom of the hill, closer to where the edge dropped off. Closer to the edge of a cliff. My hands grabbed at the ground, at wayward branches, at anything in sight, but I couldn't get a good grip. I sucked in a deep breath, I couldn't stop moving, I was going to fall, right off the cliff.

That realization left me even more desperate than before, scrambling to stop, or even slow the falling. It didn't. It propelled me forward, faster and faster, I couldn't tell you where I was going even if I had wanted to. Only down. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as some people would say. Then in an instant all the breath was sucked out of me, every ounce of it. My back hit a boulder, and the lights dimmed as my head whipped back and hit the rock as well. Darkness engulfed me.

**Patrick Jane's POV**

Right. Left. Then right again. Straight. He drove blindly, choosing his turns based on where he thought Red John would take her. Jane knew that he would take her somewhere he could find her. And he would find her just before Lisbon died, before he could tell her he was sorry. But he hoped he realized this sooner than Red John had anticipated. It was a thread of hope, but it was all he had, and he had to hold on to it. What ever the costs.

His car swerved at he narrowly missed driving right off the road, right off the cliff, and right to his death. To her death. Jane was brought out of his daze, pressing down on the break peddle to avoid crashing into the wreck. He glanced at the two car, nothing looked to fatal, and he glanced away. But, something was familiar, he knew that car. He had seen it, driving away after watching the scene with Kristina. It was Red John's car. The realization nearly sucked the breath out of him, Lisbon had been in that car. He brought his contraption, as Lisbon would call it, to a stop right behind the scene. The back door was open, that was where she had been. He looked around, scanning the area, trying to find any signs of her being there.

The boulder. There was a body draped next to it, a body that looked suspiciously like a Teresa Lisbon. Raven hair and all. Jane full-out sprinted to the body, falling on his knees beside it. He shook her lightly, a tear escaped from his eye. She didn't respond, not in the slightest. Rage filled him, the bastard, Red John, this was his fault. He saw it, a red line at her collarbone. And he knew, he knew it was from Red John, but it hadn't killed her. No. He pressed his fingers on her pulse point, he couldn't feel it, her heart. Panic gripped him, but soon overcome with anger, rage, all directed at Red John. He would kill him, and damn the consequences. He turned to leave, knowing that Red John was probably long gone, and that if he wanted to find him, he had to go. Then, right then. With out her.

**Teresa Lisbon's POV**

I felt his eyes look over me, stopping at a point on my collarbone. That was when I felt it, the cut. It didn't hurt, not a bit. No, it burned. What had Red John done to me? The question rippled through my thoughts. I felt Jane's touch, right at my pulse, it lingered there as if he was looking for something, waiting for something. Then his touch was gone. Something coursed through my veins, burning every inch of my body as it passed through. And that was when I knew. The knife I had been cut with had been laced with poison. Poison that would make me appear dead. I could think, but it would disguise my breathing and heart beat. He, Patrick Jane thought I was dead. He was starring at me. At my 'dead' body. I practically could feel his rage, his shock.

Seconds later his presence was gone, I could no longer feel it. He was walking away, leaving me here. The unmistakeable hurt crept into my heart, he thought I was gone, but he wouldn't take my body. He was leaving me here to fight my own battles alone, knowing that he just left me. Left me for the dead. He could have easily lifted my limp body and taken it to his car, but he didn't. He turned his back, walked away. I wanted to move, to call out, to do something. But I couldn't, literally, another side effect of the poison. Betrayal tore at my chest, I risked everything for him, time and time again. And he couldn't even take my body back. I tried to move, desperately trying. The burning sensation returned, overpowering me. And the blackness ensued again. And I was really left for the dead.

**Patrick Jane's POV**

He climbed into his car, the weight of her death came down on him. He brought his cell phone from his pocket, holding it up to his ear.

"Van Pelt, yes, track my call. Then meet me here. There is something you all need to see," he paused for a second before continuing, "It's about Lisbon." He shut the phone, then his eyes, trying to forget the image that he was afraid was forever burned into his mind.

Even after half an hour he still kept his eyes shut, not wanting to face reality. The reality that, indirectly, Teresa Lisbon's death was his fault. And the reality that she died knowing that, and hating him. Maybe not for that, but certainly for the past few days. And the thing was, he couldn't really blame her. Because, also in reality, he hated himself just as much, and probably even more.

Lost in his thoughts, he jumped in his seat when a very worried Van Pelt shook his shoulder.

"Jane?" she asked as he climbed out of the car. He tilted his head in the direction of the boulder, to say _this way, come this way._ He walked swiftly, dreading what he was about to show them. His eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks, then seconds later he was running. Running towards the boulder, the other three agents hot on his heels.

"Jane, what the fucking hell?" Cho asked, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"Her body," Jane panted, "Her body was right there."

"Was?" Van Pelt asked hesitantly, not looking forward to the answer. Jane nodded, the truth shocking all of them, but him the most. He had been right there. And now she was gone. Could it be possible, could she be alive? But the questions were pointless, they would only give him what would probably end up being a false hope. He had to force himself to breathe as the truth sank in:

Her body was gone.

**A/N: Well? Reviews will help me update faster. A simple, but true fact, they inspire me. Personally, I am loving how this chapter turned out, considering I went into it completely blind. ****Yeah, I had no idea where it was going, the only thing I had planned was the first paragraph. So, I'm not entirely sure how the rest of this was born. But that's okay. But, do tell me, how this turn out?**


	10. Alone Once Again

**To all the readers, thank you and I hope you continue to read. To the reviewers(Dani-9900, JisbonTiva, supernena25, MushSpotgoil, Jisbon4ever, funnygirlOoObroadywaybaby, and Krows Scared) double thanks!**

**Deep Crimson **

**Chapter 10: Alone Once Again**

**Teresa Lisbon**

He hadn't driven off, but he left me. Left me laying there, alone; he could have stayed, but he didn't. I tried to believe him when he said he would be there for me, that he would save me, but I knew I would come second, always second. I knew all along and yest I still let myself hope. I always did that, and every time it always got me hurt. I just couldn't learn, could I? And once he left my body there, I felt it, finally felt the lies become true. My eyes opened, the poison effect was wearing off, I could move, breathe, talk. Feel. I struggled to a sitting position, my body throbbed, I had cut and bruises everywhere. Blood stained my clothes, I was in no shape to do much of anything, but somehow I pushed that aside. The betrayal, the hurt, it pushed me to go forward, to move. I looked over my body, none of the cuts were lethal, I wouldn't even need stitches. From a sitting position I grabbed the boulder to help me up, I had to get away from here. From Jane.

The loss and betrayal stung, yes, but it wasn't something I hadn't felt before, that I wasn't used to. The first few steps I took were unstable, every muscle in my body screamed in agony. I closed my eyes, letting the feeling on emotions wash over me, relishing it. I knew once I was alone, once the adrenaline wore off, I would feel the emptiness again. It would wash over me completely, drowning every other emotion, leaving me as and empty shell, alone once again.

**Patrick Jane's POV**

It, she had been right there, right in front of him. She had been within his grasp the whole time, and he had just let her go. He had just given up, lost all hope. He had felt her pulse, in was nonexistent, she had been dead. All the facts were there, yet he found himself doubting himself, he found himself doing something he hadn't done in what felt like years, he felt hope. But, the thing he had found with hope, it was the ultimate downfall. It lifted your spirits, just to crash them down again. To leave you completely, to turn it's back and forget everything, it happened every time. But if she was alive, if, then he would've had left her all alone. Again. She would have been alone once again.

**The Team's POV**

They had seen it, the look of pure horror on Jane's face. He had seen her body, felt her pulse, she had been dead, and now she, her body was gone. Disappeared into thin air. Gone. All of them felt the tiniest shred of hope, that maybe, just maybe she would be alive and it wasn't just someone cleaning up their mess. No one knew what she had been through, not even Patrick Jane could know, the only people who knew were missing in action. Teresa Lisbon and Red John. One was injured, possibly dead, and the other, the other had never been caught, and no one even knew his real identity. So basically, they were screwed, and they knew it.

But, the thought that clawed into each of their minds, maybe wasn't the worst, but it was certainly in no way good. If she wasn't dead, if, then there was a good possibility that she knew Jane was there, that she knew he had left her body there. And if she did know that, it could be the reason they had no body, no Teresa Lisbon. The team knew that over the last few months, what with the Red John case being taken from them, with Sam Bosco and his team being murdered, the other cases, and with Jane being taken and then saved by Red John they had grown closer. To really trust each other. And this, if she knew, would destroy all of that. Possibly permanently. Lisbon had been through a lot recently, even if they all didn't know what exactly, they could see that it was affecting her, and Jane leaving her there wasn't going to help. It would hurt, possibly more than anything else she had been experiencing lately. She would've been left alone once again.

**A/N: So, it was shorter than the last few chapters, but it worked. Thank you for reading, and reviews make me update faster.**


	11. With Every

**Author's Note: Thanks to: supernena25, Krows Scared, funnygirloOobroadwaybaby, Dani-9900, Jisbon4ever, and Lisbon94! And to all the readers!**

**Deep Crimson**

**Chapter 11: With Every**

**Teresa Lisbon's POV**

I stumbled along the road, feeling light headed, feeling dizzy. But not just dizzy, there was something else, something rooted at my core. Something that I couldn't quite grasp, but I couldn't fully let go. Not all the way. I swayed on the spot, my body exhausted from fighting, fighting a battle that was sure to be lost. Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but it was inevitable. I didn't have the strength to continue on for much longer, to keep chasing something we were never going to catch up to. Red John, it all led back to him. I touched my hand to my head, trying to stop the relentless spinning. Faster. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to steady myself, ending up falling. But I never hit the ground, something, someone, caught me mid fall. Stopped me from tumbling to the ground.

"Hello, Teresa," she purred, her gaze was cold, hard, evil. My body flicked into action once the realization hit me. Frye. Kristina Frye. It was her. I struggled against her grasp, feeling and re-feeling the cuts on my arm and leg. The one's that she did herself, expertly.

"You work with Red John," I croaked, barely able to get the words off my tongue. I hadn't realized how tired I was, how drained. She stared at me, her smile seemed to penetrate my thoughts, reading each and everyone, "Yes. But, you are going to be my kill. Not his," she sneered, so sure of my fate. I had been right about her, there was no question about that now. Jane could talk about trust all he wanted to, but when push comes to shove, it wasn't there. Maybe it had been once, but not anymore, not when it came to Red John. Why couldn't he have just trusted me? Because it was _her, _and it was _him, _Red John. And now I was going to pay for his mistake. With my life. But there was no way. No way I was going to let her kill me. Not with out one hell of a fight.

We struggled momentarily, finally ending with me kneeing and hitting her in the back of the neck. She dropped, not fully unconsious, but enough so that I could get away. I broke into a full out sprint, wanting nothing more than to be far away from that woman. The woman that Jane trusted more than me.

"_Don't shoot." _I could still hear his voice loud and clear, interrupting my thoughts. I kept running, kept trying, trying to out run something that was bound to catch up to me eventually. Now, all I had to do was wait. With every twist and turn, I expected to see Frye's face behind me, smiling. Just like Red John. Just like him. With every step I took, I expected my legs to collapse out from under me due to exhaustion. With every breath I took, I felt the emptiness return, the emptiness I couldn't get rid of, that I couldn't ignore. And with every beat of my heart, I waited for the tears to come.

**Patrick Jane's POV**

He looked over the scene once again, searching for something, anything they hadn't seen before. They had already found the blood trail, which ended with him concluding that she was alive. He wanted to believe that she hadn't noticed his car parked at the side of the road, he really wanted to believe that. But, he had doubts. Actually, he knew, after all he was Patrick Jane. He knew she had seen his car, and he knew she left of her own accord. And worst of all, he had a feeling that she knew he thought she was dead, and yet she still didn't tell him she wasn't. She let him go ahead and believe it, she let him.

"She left on her own, didn't she?" Van Pelt whispered, her eyes betraying that she already knew. Not one of them wanted to believe that she would have just left without saying anything, but the facts were there, and they were left to draw their own conclusions. However bad they may be.

Guilt pricked at him, if he hadn't left her body there, then this would have never happened. But guilt soon became anger, if she had just trusted him enough to say what was going on then not a single bit of this would have happened. Why couldn't she trust him? He felt Van Pelt's gaze on him, watching him carefully. She nudged him, giving Jane the signal that they were going back to the office. Maybe she would show up there...

**Grace Van Pelt's POV**

She could see the hurt, disappointment, and betrayal in his eyes without even trying to find it. For once, Patrick Jane wasn't hiding his feelings, he wasn't guarded. But, those weren't the only emotions there, there was anger, something she hadn't been expecting. She knew Lisbon had been keeping secrets, they all knew, but no one, not a single person knew what or why. Not even Patrick Jane. She had thought they had grown closer, but based on the events of the past week, she couldn't be sure. Not anymore.

"_Lisbon, let me make this clear, when I catch him, not if, I will cut him open and watch him bleed. Just like he did with my wife and child."_

"_Then let me make this clear," Lisbon had said, "If you do that, then I will either have to shoot you to try to stop you, or arrest you for murder. That's life in jail. Do you really want that? Would your wife and daughter want that?" _

"_You wanna go there? Fine. Would-" _Hearing the words again in her memory somehow cleared some of the fog. Some of the confusion of not knowing what was going on, and why. She remembered what she had heard nearly two days prior, maybe she should have stayed to hear the rest, if she, instead of Jane, had been the one to know then, maybe...

**Author's Note: Please review!**


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